Two Truths and a Lie
by Italian.CtrlFrk
Summary: Malcolm hadn't known that superglueing Reese's hand to the remote would have led to them being surrounded by at least ten police and FBI cars - covered in blood and semen - and under arrest for international slave and drug trade. If he had, he would have done something differently. But now, they're the most wanted. In the whole damn country. Wilkercest. ITS COMING BACK GUYS!
1. Let's Start at the End

This story is officially off of hiatus!

OK, so I feel really bad about how long its taken me to get back to this story. Honestly, it scares the crap out of me; it's a fucking monster of an _idea_, even more so when you get to writing it. So, I ended up taking a 6 month long break from it (not my intention, really), but now that finals are over, I feel I can finally start working on it again. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far; wow, you guys are so amazing! Thanks for the comments you left; without them, I may have abandoned this story.

Now, here is the first chapter, now revised to the point where I actually feel that I can continue this story!

* * *

It wasn't meant to go this far. Really. If Malcolm had known that this would happen, he would have never, ever super glued Reese's hand to the TV remote. Of course, he hadn't known, so it seemed like a great idea at the time. But now here they were, surrounded by at least ten police and FBI cars, covered in blood and semen, and under arrest for international slave and drug trade. Not to mention the fact that they were quite possibly the most notorious couple in the USA _ever_. You know. Just a usual day in the life of the Wilkerson brothers. Minus Dewey. Because you only involved Dewey if you had a death wish. Which Malcolm, in fact, did not. It only seems that way. Honest to God, if Dewey were here, they'd already be skinned and gutted and lying dead in a dumpster somewhere in Amsterdam. And he would be the president of the western hemisphere. Or something like that.

Malcolm flinched slightly at the crackle of a megaphone, before shooting a glance over at Reese. He just shrugged, his shirt making an unpleasant crunching noise as the cakes of dried bodily fluids cracked at the movement. Malcolm crinkled his nose.

"Surrender now and we won't shoot! Lie down slowly on the ground, and keep your hands where I can see them!" A loud voice boomed from behind an open car door, and Malcolm looked over at Reese again. He glanced back at Malcolm with a look that screamed _well, we're already fucked_, and Malcolm sank down to his knees. His brother came down with him (granted, he didn't have much choice because they were _still_ handcuffed together), and they lay side by side in the middle of the street, palms flat on the pavement in front of them. They were immediately jumped by two policemen, and they (attempted to) yank the brothers' hands behind their backs. Malcolm sighed.

"You know, before you try putting even more cuffs on us, maybe you want to try taking the ones we already have on off. Just a thought," He wasn't usually this sarcastic.

OK, that was a lie. He was delightfully sarcastic.

The policeman on his back just growled (no appreciation for wittiness, really), but he felt the heavy metal fall off his wrist a few seconds later. Law enforcement was so boring. Although, making them look stupid was always fun. Probably not the best idea though. Might get them into even more trouble than they already were in. Of course, none of that trouble was their _fault_, but the FBI had this pesky habit of believing an overwhelming amount of evidence over the word of two convicted criminals. How biased.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand?" Malcolm rolled his eyes.

They were pulled off the ground and marched over to one of the huge, black SUVs that all the feds in movies drove, but no one thought any actual feds drove. They stuffed the brothers into the backseat, and Malcolm grunted as his shoulders twisted painfully. Reese shot him an amused smirk when he was manhandled in next to Malcolm, and Malcolm was hit with the temptation to stick his tongue out at his brother. Childish, sure, but Malcolm was beaten and bloody and very well fucked (in the not nice way), and did not appreciate that Reese found the situation amusing.

He somehow managed a twisted grimace in Reese's direction before leaning forward, trying to some of the pressure on his shoulders. Reese snorted, and Malcolm just leaned further forward and flicked him off.

٠٠٠٠٠

The FBI building was exactly how Malcolm had imagined one to be; a pimped out office swarming with hoards of patriotic idiots. Cameras followed the brothers' every move, and they had to make it through two metal detectors, an x-ray machine, and a pack of drug sniffing dogs. While Malcolm was sure they didn't treat everyone to that lovely little welcome party, it made him wonder how paranoid someone could be. Or how well known they actually were.

After they made it through the small army assembled to meet them, they went up to the third floor and were tossed into two separate interrogation rooms right next to the bullpen. Malcolm gave a last fleeting look at Reese, and he gave a carefree thumbs up. Malcolm rolled his eyes, before groaning in over exaggerated pain as they threw him in a chair, banging his handcuffs loudly on the metal back to send them a clear signal. But they were obviously way too thick to understand anything as subtle as that, so he cleared his throat, ready to go on a long tirade, but was cut off before he got started by an agent walking through the door. He was tall and built and broody, looking like an odd mix between a polished businessman and a boxer. Or something.

"Malcolm Wilkerson. We've been looking for you for a long time." His voice was sort of low and really smooth; he sounded more like a movie star than an FBI agent. Malcolm twisted his mouth into something that was supposed to resemble a smile, though he wouldn't put his money on it. He shut the door, and he was suddenly slapping a manila folder down in front of Malcolm and sitting on the corner of the metal table, leaning in much too close for comfort. There was a determination in his eyes that shook Malcolm a little, but he matched it with a stare of his own, which he knew was just as unnerving in its own respect. He flipped the folder open and spread a slew of pictures across the table, never taking his eyes off Malcolm.

"Take a look, Malcolm, at what you and Reese have done," he whispered, his voice soft and encouraging, though his eyes never changed. Malcolm licked his lips quickly and glanced down at the spread on the table. He immediately regretted it. He was looking at pictures of all the crime scenes the FBI has tied to him and Reese, and he had to repress the urge to gag. There was blood and corpses and all things unpleasant. He looked back up at the agent with a schooled stare of indifference.

"I don't suppose you would believe me if I told you we didn't actually do any of this?" The agent gave him a look, and Malcolm smiled dryly at him. He slapped another folder down in front of him, opening it and holding up a picture for him to see. It was of a crime scene in an apartment, and there was blood everywhere. A blond girl was lying half-off the couch, and her stomach had been sliced open. Her guts were spilled all across the floor and the coffee table.

"Amy Garrett, 21. Found dead in her apartment two weeks ago. Murder weapon still at the crime scene, with your fingerprints all over it. Your brother's skin found under her nails from where she scratched him as he was holding her down. Bloody shoeprints matching both of your sizes found just outside the building. And you're telling me that you didn't do it?" the agent didn't even give Malcolm time to answer before he opened another folder, this one containing pictures of him and Reese at JFK airport. He picked up one that showed them walking through the terminal after they had gone through security. Reese's jacket was fluttering up, and you could see the corner of a bag that was filled with white powder tucked into his jeans.

"Two weeks ago, JFK. A security camera caught you smuggling drugs," Malcolm raised his eyebrows at him.

"That's hardly enough to convict us of anything. You have no idea what was actually in the bag. Besides, who smuggles drugs _out _of the US? Not to mention, if I were to smuggle drugs, you can bet your ass I would be much more clever than this," Malcolm replied, cutting him off. The agent stared at him, and he smiled amicably back. Malcolm wasn't about to do anything to incite this guy further, he was plenty worked up as it was. Suddenly, the door opened again. Both the agent and Malcolm looked over, and the agent scowled. There was a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties standing there, looking rather frazzled and rather pissed off.

"That will be all, agent, I would like to talk to my client alone. You may leave now," the agent's scowl deepened, but he stood up anyway and stalked out of the room. The menacing look immediately fell off the woman's face, replaced by a determined and forceful demeanor. She sat down across from him and briskly gathered the folders together.

"My name is Amanda West, and I am appointed to you and your brother's case. Now, I have all of the information here. We have no hope of pleading innocence; these charges are nothing to be taken lightly. Your best bet would be to try to make a deal," She looked Malcolm in the eye, and he sent her a dry smile.

"I appreciate your input Ms. West, but I won't be requiring your services. I have this under control. My brother, however, could use any help you can offer him," Amanda West leaned over the table, a spark of disbelief in her eyes.

"Young man, I'm not sure you entirely understand the kind of trouble you are in. The police have mountains of evidence against you, evidence that will easily hold up in court," Malcolm nodded obligingly.

"I can assure you, Ms. West, that I am fully aware of the situation we are in. Don't worry about me; go and babysit my brother instead," Malcolm shot back at her, keeping his tone light and pleasant. She continued to stare at him, and he just smiled.

God, lawyers were so stupid.

٠٠٠٠٠

Don Eppes was no amateur. He had seen enough messed up and crazy to last him 3 lifetimes over. In fact, before this case, he would have said that he had seen it all. Robberies, murders, kidnapping, rape, torture, psychological mind games, and everything in between. He had been locking up the bad guys for years, had seen every psycho and pedo the world had to offer. But then he got the Wilkerson's case, and all of the crap about knowing all that the sickos of the world had to offer had gone to hell.

It had started out normally enough, just another bank robbery in LA's financial district. Sure, the suspects were a little young, brothers of only 16 and 17, and sure, it was a decent amount of money, but there had been younger criminals and better executed bank robberies, so Don had thought nothing of the case. But things had only gotten weirder from then on. Now, as he sat at David's desk looking over the case, he had to wonder just what he had gotten into.

"Don, the lawyer just got to the other kid," Colby said, flopping down into his chair and wheeling over to look at the papers spread out on the desk. Don sighed.

"Did you get anything useful out of him first?" Colby grabbed the paper that listed the charges and leaned back in his chair.

"Nope, only that he's a messed up kid. He had a boner throughout the entire interview," Don snorted softly, and Colby whistled in surprise.

"Damn, these are some serious charges. Drug trafficking, first degree murder, human trafficking, possession of illegal explosives… wait a second. Incest? Don't tell me…" Colby trailed off, disgusted, and Don sighed.

"Yeah. We've got multiple videos and accounts detailing the nature of Malcolm and Reese's relationship," Colby's disgust grew.

"Dude, that's messed up. They're brothers, for God's sake. That's like you and Charlie getting together. _Dude_," Don threw Colby a sharp look, and Colby paused.

"Don't say that, Colby. Don't even _think_ that," Don's voice was cold.

"Sorry boss," Colby said in a voice that didn't really sound apologetic at all. Don sighed again and rubbed his forehead. This case was giving him a headache.

٠٠٠٠٠

Malcolm waited patiently after the lawyer left, shifting so his hands were in front of him, under the table. He knew it was only a matter of time before the agent came back in, and he knew he would be doing a lot of talking very soon. Might as well get comfortable.

He only had to wait 5 minutes before the door opened again. This time the agent was accompanied by a buff black guy, and Malcolm grinned.

"Back to see me so soon?" the agent ignored him and sat down in the chair Amanda West had just vacated.

"I'm Special Agent Don Eppes. I know everything about you. I know about Las Vegas, I know about you and Reese, I know your library records and food preferences. I don't need anything from you. We could press charges right now and lock you up in solitary for the rest of your life. But I'm giving you a chance here. If you confess, I can help to lower your sentence to where you can have interactions with other human beings. That's all I'm promising, and that's the best you can hope for. Make your choice and make it wisely," Eppes was assured and controlling, and Malcolm smirked. Time to work his magic.

"Well then, Special Agent Don Eppes. I might as well start from the beginning."


	2. Malcolm Wilkerson, Remote Enthusiast

No way, an update already?!

That was sarcasm, just in case you didn't get it.

So, I know this is really short, but I felt like I should give you guys something to know that I'm not dead. It's coming back! I explained a few things in author's notes in the first chapter, but basically I'm really sorry about the wait (god, the time totally got away from me!) but I _am_ continuing this story. Thanks for your patience guys, and expect updates much more frequently now (hopefully).

* * *

"Godammit, Reese!" Malcolm was stuck, and stupid brother grinned triumphantly from the couch.

"Sucks, loser, now I get the remote," Reese flipped the remote up into the air, before catching it and, shooting a smug smirk over to Malcolm, switching the channel to the wrestling match.

"Reese, come over here and get my hand out of the damn drain!" Reese just munched on his popcorn, turning up the TV until it nearly drowned Malcolm out.

"Jerk, it's my turn with the remote and you know it! Now get me unstuck and give me the remote or I'm gonna kick your ass!" Malcolm struggled futilely against the constraining diameter of the kitchen sink drain and glared murderously at his brother. Stupid Reese and his stupid schemes. Now Malcolm would have to wait until someone else came home so they could get him some oil or something. That could take forever; who knew where the rest of his family was?

"I hate you," he said petulantly, slumping down against the counter. Reese just flicked him off and turned up the volume even more.

٠٠٠٠٠

Malcolm was going to get Reese back; really and truly. He was just biding his time. These things take thought - finesse. He couldn't just go blundering in and beating Reese up; no, much too obvious. It had to be subtle, meaningful. Which was why Malcolm waited a whole week and a half for the perfect moment to exact his revenge.

It came on a broiling hot day in the middle of the week. The air was heavy with moisture and mid-summer purposelessness; it was the kind of day that made you lethargic and strung out and unwilling to do anything other than lay in the air conditioning and hope not to sweat out all the water in your body. Malcolm, Reese and Dewey were no exception, and had only been able to muster up the energy to move from their beds to the couch, where they promptly flopped over again. Malcolm had claimed the remote first, and after watching several hours of TV, found himself in the perfect position to strike.

With an almost imperceptible slight of hand, he flicked out the object up his sleeve and gave it a quick squeeze. He then stood up, gave a meaningful look at Dewey, who he had told about his plan, and loudly announced that he was going to piss. He managed to make it to the bathroom with a straight face before a wicked grin split across his lips. Oh, this was going to be _good_. He stayed in the bathroom for an appropriate amount of time, then made his way back to the couch. As he had hoped, Reese had snatched up the remote in his absence, and Malcolm quickly schooled his face into a look of irritation.

"Reese, give it back!" Malcolm made sure that he sounded angry, marching over to the couch and reaching towards Reese to try and snatch the remote away. His brother grinned and leapt out of the way, standing on the couch and raising his hand above his head.

"You gave it up when you went to the bathroom!" Reese said in a smug voice, and Malcolm couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. Reese looked at him in confusion, and Malcolm was unable to hold back any longer. He let out a loud snort and promptly collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"What? What's so funny?" Reese sounded angry now, but in a defensive sort of way, like he was sure he was supposed to be angry but he wasn't sure _why_ he was supposed to be angry, and it sent both Malcolm and Dewey into another round of giggles.

"Is there anything wrong with your hand, Reese?" Malcolm managed to get out between hiccoughs of laughter. Reese looked down at his hands, one of which was still clutching the remote, and a look of horror passed over his face.

"Malcolm…" He started, voice deepening into a tone that usually meant Malcolm was about to be beaten into the ground, and Malcolm scrambled away, running and laughing, down the hall.

"Godammit, I'm going to kill you!"

٠٠٠٠٠

Lois was furious. Lois was beyond furious. Lois was at the point where she was ready to rip off the head of the next person that talked to her.

She had just spent the last two hours peeling off a remote that had been super-glued to Reese's hand, had had to set Malcolm's dislocated shoulder, and now had to deal with an almost complete set of smashed dishes and a tipped over refrigerator. And on top of that, they were scheduled to leave for LA in several hours, and she had so many other things to worry about.

So, Lois was about ready to commit murder.

"This has gone far enough boys. I will no longer tolerate any of this; if there is so much as one stolen candy bar during our trip, so help me God, I will lock the two of you up for the rest of the summer. In fact, I don't want you leaving my sight at all. You will stay with me until the end of our trip, and if there is any complaint, you won't leave my side until the end of the summer. Do you understand?" Her voice was steely calm, the way it gets when she means serious business, and both Malcolm and Reese knew better than to fuck with her when she was truly, intensely angry.

"Now clean up this mess, and it had better be done by the time we leave," She eyed both, watching them squirm and fidget, before she turned on her heel to go deal with Dewey.

Malcolm and Reese looked up at each other. Malcolm's face darkened and Reese fingered the raw skin of his palm.

"This isn't over,"

"You bet your ass it's not"


End file.
